


Through The Veil

by kirschtrash



Category: Great Pretender (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Dark, Demon Hunters, Demonic Possession, Drabble Collection, Fallen Angels, Ghost Hunters, Heaven & Hell, Horror, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Memoirs, Mild Blood, Mystical Creatures, POV Laurent, Pining Laurent Thierry, Psychological Horror, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:14:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27786556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirschtrash/pseuds/kirschtrash
Summary: There are only a few select people - gifted or cursed - who are granted access to the Other World: a universe of its own, thriving with all things supernatural. Two of those people happen to be Edamura and Laurent, for better or for worse. And whether they like it or not, they now hold a responsibility to maintain this delicate order between the humane and the extramundane.(A collection of stories and memoirs of Edamura and Laurent, as they navigate their way through the veil together.)
Relationships: Edamura Makoto/Laurent Thierry
Comments: 7
Kudos: 38





	1. Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> My [tumblr](https://kirschtrash.tumblr.com/) and my [twitter](https://twitter.com/kirschtrash?lang=en) hehe

Snow had not touched the streets yet, but the sky was already teaming with thick, gray clouds. The promise of an onslaught of hailstones at any given moment felt like an earnest one.

As if bracing for that biting impact, Laurent wrapped his long, black coat around himself tighter. He looked at his reflection in the glass window of a clothing store, his own faint outline standing still amidst the blur of bodies behind him: a frenzy of men and women rushing to their warm, loving homes. Adjusting his clerical collar, he made sure his appearance didn’t betray the features of a fake. No pretending gig ever worked if he didn’t look the part, after all.

“Alright, we better head to the church now,” he began, turning to his left. “Let’s go-”

But he stopped mid-sentence, as his eyes focused on the one person who stood still amidst the crowd: Edamura, with his hands deep in his leather jacket, and his back towards Laurent.

“Edamura…?”

But to no avail: he was completely lost in some other thought - or rather, some other sight.

All Laurent had to do was crane his head back ever so slightly, and he could see what Edamura was seemingly enamored by: a little girl, with a doll in her tiny hands, staring at a store window. What caught his attention was not the state of her tattered toy, or her somber expression - but rather the presence of something sinister surrounding her.

This time, Laurent didn’t call out again; instead, he simply walked up behind him, and inquired gently:

“What do you see?”

His answer was immediate: “Pitch black. It’s leeching off her.”

The picture that conjured in Laurent’s mind was gruesome: a dense, massive cloud surrounding the little girl, dark and despairing. While he didn’t possess the vision to see such a monster in person, he could most definitely sense it’s menacing presence, pulsating with grief.  
It was one of the many extensions of Death, manifesting itself as a parasitic fog that clung to the little girl’s timid frame, siphoning her life force until nothing remained. Those kinds of dark masses didn’t possess a face like demons; they didn’t harbor any ulterior motive the way vengeful spirits did, either. They were mere shadows that killed slowly, painfully. All they did was carry out Death's own cruel duties, taking their sweet, merry time as they did so.

The picture that Laurent imagined was terrifying enough. He could not even fathom what Edamura was seeing.

A cold gust of wind blew through the streets of New York, but that wasn’t what made Laurent shiver.

He reached out and placed a hand on Edamura’s shoulder. “We need to go... There’s nothing we can do.”

Laurent was not surprised when his partner in crime shrugged his hand off. But what did surprise him was when he began walking forwards, vanishing inside a supermarket two blocks down the street. It was about two minutes later that he emerged, with a plastic sphere in his hand - a little toy capsule.  
Within a few strides, he was standing in front of the little girl, who had her head tilted up to meet his stare, her own eyes blown wide earnestly. Blissfully oblivious to Death’s hand holding her hostage.

Edamura didn’t waver, though; he gave her a smile filled to the brim with kindness, and offered the toy to her. The girl was overjoyed at the tiny figurine, plucking it from his hands and hugging it close to her chest, as if she had found treasure. From the looks of it, the sight of her happiness seemed to bring him joy, too.

A few moments later, the girl skipped back to her mother, who stood waiting in front of a café door. And just like that, the pair turned around the street corner and vanished, with Death’s shadow trailing behind like a lost friend, waiting for its reunion.

It was only then did Edamura turn back towards Laurent, with a smile that felt warm, even in the harshest of winters.

The mere fact that Edamura could manage to harbor in his heart the kind of warmth that comforted others fascinated Laurent. The gifted - or cursed - few people who possessed the same kind of vision he did often found themselves on the brink of insanity, fighting a losing battle against fears they never knew they had. When one possessed such an innate sense to see through the veil that separated the real world from the supernatural, one had to get accustomed to a world even more cruel than their own.

But Laurent knew Edamura, more than anyone in this world. He knew that Edamura had a habit of surprising him. He knew that no matter how cold the other world felt, he’d still always have enough warmth to share.

Laurent always prayed to any Higher Being willing to listen, to never let Edamura run out of that kindness. It was something he desired to be around, because he knew how precious it was. When Edamura tugged at his own clerical collar and smiled at him, with a resolve to help others glimmering in his eyes, he knew how important it was for the both of them.

After all, it was one of the few things Laurent ever cherished in his life. No force - from the real world or the other - could take that away from him.


	2. So Long As There Is Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Chapter 2! I wanted to flesh out this world a bit more, hopefully you guys like it ;u; Let me know how I did~
> 
> In this chapter, one character is based off [this Angel inspired by "cursed emojis"](https://twitter.com/nezumiyasha/status/1332800207067766796/photo/3), made by the glorious Nez ([@nezumiyasha](https://twitter.com/nezumiyasha) on Twitter)! Do check their other works, they're phenomenal! <3
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: There are mentions of suicide and blood, please read carefully.
> 
> My socials: [Tumblr](https://kirschtrash.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/kirschtrash) in case u wanna say hi c:

The morning had barely just begun, when they got the call.

It was Abigail, and she spoke before Laurent could even say hello: they had to come quick, before the ambulance rushed into the scene.

“It’s no hit-and-run,” she explained. “It’s suicide, but… it doesn’t feel right, either. You have to come over and look.”

That gut-feeling of hers had always been accurate, like an animalistic sense that could sniff out potentially supernatural threats, ones that might’ve gone unnoticed within the folds of the real world. Having her ever-present in law enforcement helped for that very reason: with her access to multiple regions at once - along with her killer instinct - weeding out unusual cases became a lot less hectic.

So when Laurent heard her concern, he responded without hesitation: “We’re on our way.”

The scene was not too far away from where they were staying, just a few blocks away from their local church. As Laurent and Edamura walked closer to the greying stoned arch, they could see the group of people crowding around what seemed to be a street lamp, like flies buzzing around a sweet treat. It must have been at most five or six people, thankfully, but it would only grow thicker as the day would continue. Words often spread like wildfire, after all - even if the words were grim and carried with them the message of death.

Finally approaching the scene, they walked up to Abbie, who was directing two of her men to place the body on a stretcher. She gave them the run down as soon as they stopped in front of her:

“We reached here at around 6, after a couple of runners spotted the body. Male, around his 40s, hanging from this lamp post right here.”

Laurent looked at the lamp post she pointed at, inspecting it closely. When his eyes scanned the top arch , he noticed the frayed edges of the rope they had just cut through. Tipping his head to one side, he couldn’t help but wonder: how could the man manage to hang himself up that high, all on his own?

He then glanced at Edamura, who was not paying any attention to either Abbie or the world. He was too busy staring at the body - and as he did so, his left eye twitched ever so slightly.

They couldn’t waste any more time. “Abbie, let us check the body.”

With one nod, she granted Laurent’s request, and guided them to the body. At first glance, nothing stood out of the ordinary; there was a balding man lying face up on a stretcher, clad in a fine suit and tie fit for any funeral. There were dark ligature marks around his neck where the noose had been, signifying what must have been a cruel, painful death.

His eyes were wide open, but… the stare didn’t feel empty. This stranger’s stare seemed to be the only part alive about him.

_ Alive, but sinister. _

There was no denying it - something was most definitely off, and Laurent couldn’t quite put his finger on it. The air close to him was thrumming, as it usually did whenever he was around something from the inhumane realm - but apart from that, the atmosphere seemed to be pulsating. It was a strange feeling, and he had no idea what to make of it.

He let Edamura take the lead, who was now crouched close to the body. He was inspecting the stranger’s nails, palms, and wrists, before moving up to his facial features. He did so with a deliberate concentration, trying to find anything that his vision could detect, something that even Laurent’s own senses couldn’t notice on their own.

That was when his eyes stilled at the man’s neck.

Laurent bent down next to Edamura, and asked, “What do you see?”

“There are these black lines right where the noose was,” he explained. His voice had fallen to a whisper, almost as if he didn’t want the stranger to overhear. “It-it looks almost veiny, going up to his cheeks… as if all his blood got turned black.”

Laurent ignored the way his heart sank at the gruesome imagery. He prodded on: “Anything else?”

“I- I don’t know how to explain it, but… but it feels like this blackened blood is still moving, but without a beating heart. I think you’ll be able to feel it, too…”

With that, Edamura grabbed Laurent’s right hand, and placed his first two fingers against the side of the man’s neck, his skin cool to the touch. On any better day, one might have felt a pulse of life. But instead, Laurent most definitely felt _something_ pulsate - a gentle hum that rose and fell inside the body as if it had a mind of its own. And then there it was - a jolt of electricity, a crawling sensation that ran up his arm and curled around his neck.

It lasted for no longer than a fraction of a second, but it shook Laurent nonetheless.  He shared a look with Edamura, who was thinking the same thing:

There’s no denying it. This is something beyond the ordinary.

Just then, the first few shy drops of rain began to fall.

*

“What could it be?”

The pair had raised this question at least a dozen times, as they sat within the cozy confines of an ancient diner they often frequented; a quiet, quaint place where only a few people ever visited at a time. On that particularly rainy morning, it felt as if only the two of them were wide awake.  The world outside was still shrouded in grey, without a single ray of sunlight in sight - and from the looks of it, it felt like it would remain like so for at least a week.

Unconsciously, Laurent’s eyes started tracing the path of raindrops falling against the window to his left. Raising his mug to his lips, he took a slow sip, trying to come up with some answer.

He wondered out loud again: “What if it’s some extension of Death, some form that lingers around the body instead of leaving right away?”

Edamura sat across from him, and he shook his head in dismissal almost immediately. Once he was done chewing down a forkful of scrambled eggs, he said, “Death’s peripheral forms don’t work that way, you know that. They don’t stay around any human once their life is gone - then there’d be no point. And besides, if it were one of Death’s henchmen then I would have seen it; their dark energy is easy to notice. But this was a lot different... You felt that too, didn’t you?”

Laurent couldn’t deny that; Death’s own signature energy was indeed easy to spot. It was a still, stagnant kind of darkness that felt oppressive. But this energy was mobile, electric, and it fluctuated unlike anything he had ever felt.

His gut twisted at the only possibility he could come up with: “Whatever this thing is… it has to be a rogue kind.”

That made Edamura freeze in his tracks, the two pieces of bacon falling limp on his fork. His eyes grew wide.

“A-are you sure?” he asked slowly. “Rogues are a lot wilder, aren’t they? They don't leave any scene without spilling blood.”

Laurent nodded, placing his mug back on the table top. He knew what he suggested was no educated guess; he knew how cruel and vicious rogue forms of demons, ghouls, or ghosts could be. They all had a penchant for bloodshed, and they were known to wreak havoc in large numbers. Trying to suggest something as extreme as that to apply to a singular suicide was quite a stretch.

Even so, it was something his gut-feeling was inching towards. His fingers brushed against his neck, fingertips circling around where he last felt that electric sensation. It was all too familiar.

“I know,” he responded with a sigh. “But residual energies tend to stay static - and this one was moving. You felt that too… That only leads me to believe it’s unlike something we’ve seen before.”

That was all Laurent could say to justify his hypothesis, and he could only hope that Edamura would understand. For a few painful moments, he thought his partner would retort yet again, but instead he placed his fork back on his plate. He leaned his cheek against his palm, and looked outside the window. Maybe he was too busy tracing the raindrops trickling down the glass, or maybe he was completely lost in thought. Either way, he was pensive.

After a few moments of silence, Edamura spoke up: “I’ll trust you. But… it can’t mean anything good.”

“Have we ever even seen a good rogue?”

“No, that’s not what I meant. What I mean is- is that if this thing is a rogue form, then we should expect even more cases. Really soon.”

The magnanimity of Laurent’s own theory didn’t hit him until that point. Who could say this rogue supernatural entity would stop at just one victim? They never knew how to satiate their thirst for suffering, after all.

His chest felt heavy at the thought of seeing the body count rise. But his heart almost stopped altogether when he saw Edamura’s stare grow a shade darker. It felt like the dark circles under his eyes became evermore prominent.  
Edamura looked visibly tired at the prospect of seeing more bodies than were necessary. He never enjoyed the ordeal, Laurent knew that. It was enough trouble to have the ability to look at every possible inhumane entity from beyond the veil; having to encounter lifeless bodies was just an added burden to his shoulders . _Shoulders that are already heavy beyond belief._

As if a ray of sunshine suddenly broke through thick rainy clouds, Edamura looked up and broke into a smile. It felt tired, but it was real. And it was determined.

“Then we just have to catch this fucker before it gets anyone else.”

That was no empty promise. Laurent knew his partner-in-crime hardly ever spoke words he didn’t mean. Of course, the pair had no plan of action so far; there was no way they could prevent any further deaths from happening, either. And yet, he assured it with so much resilience, as if the decision was already set in stone. His vow was filled to the brim with hope, something Laurent never knew how he could summon so earnestly from a soul as tired as his own.

Laurent smiled back, matching his determination. He always had his own ways of surprising me.

*

While they had reached a hypothesis of sorts, they still had only a vague idea on what exactly they were dealing with. In such roadblocks, their only other option was to visit Cynthia Moore: an art historian with the most peculiar interests - supernatural interests, to be precise.

That much was evident just from one look at her study; a dimly lit, compact room hidden away from the outside, and for good reason. Tall shelves were stacked thick with dusty volumes of archaic texts outlining the birth of angels, the demise of demons, and various methods to deal with spirits, hellish or otherwise. One particular shelf even had two deformed skulls sat atop them; they must have been from victims of possessions by a special type of rogue demon that could morph its host. How she got a hold of something like that - and how she managed to keep it in such proper condition - was something Laurent did not want to know.  
Behind her desk, there was a corkboard that spanned almost the entire width of the room, filled with sketches that ranged from the anatomy of hellhounds, to hybrid forms of monsters meant to be locked away in purgatory. They were all tacked on haphazardly, along with other hastily scribbled notes here and there. The same disorder was reflected on her tabletop, where all that could be seen was a mess of papers, quite unlike her regular study room where she’d conduct earnest research on paintings of antiquity.

However, she always managed to find a method within her madness, especially when the situation called for it. So when Laurent and Edamura came to her with their story and theories, she pulled out a paper and pencil, and thrusted it towards Edamura wordlessly.

He knew what to do; he sat at the table, pencil in hand, and closed his eyes. After a few moments’ pause, the pencil’s lead began to scratch against the piece of paper, as if it had a mind of its own. The random lines began to take form, cracks that meandered like tendrils snaking upwards, growing darker and darker as they spread further and further. He was trying to pull just the image from his memories, but Laurent knew the effort was bringing something darker along with it. That was evident from the way his strokes started becoming more urgent, his breath shakier-

Laurent grabbed his shoulder gently, bringing him back to the present. For the most part, it worked; he stopped sketching, and lifted the paper towards Cynthia. He tried ignoring the way Edamura’s hands trembled in the air as he reached out.

She took a close look at it, worry lines marking her forehead. The longer she inspected the picture, the more questions she asked about the energy it released, how frequently did the air pulsate around them, whether or not they sensed a temperature drop or raise as a result. She had begun pacing the length of the room, her hair now tied up in a bun with just her pencil.

Then, as if a lightbulb suddenly started glowing bright in her mind, she snapped her fingers. “I think I recognize something like this.”

And recognized she did; crossing the room, she reached her towering bookshelf and scanned through the various rows, occasionally pulling out a dusty volume or two. By the time she was done, she had placed at least a dozen books on her study table, but the one book that was of most interest to her was an ancient one, a record of 12th century priests who had encountered unique experiences with the dead, instances they considered divinely ordained. Among the hundreds of records, there were a few that had the same descriptors as what Edamura had just drawn: black tendrils running through the skin, with an aura unlike any other.

“These kinds of incidents are few and far between,” Cynthia explained, “but they’re there nonetheless. Priests at the time used to think it-”

“-It was a sign that someone’s soul was destined to go to hell,” completed Laurent, as he folded his arms. “Used to be a belief from medieval times, though...”

She smiled with humor. “Exactly. It might’ve been a comforting theory for priests at the time, but it doesn’t make sense - because if it were true, then we’d have a hundred more such records on our hands.”

Then, she walked closer to her study table, thumbing through another encyclopedia. After a few minutes of flipping through pages, she pointed at a passage. “See here? Souls are tied to their bodies, and they leave only if it’s their time. And when they do leave, they don’t leave a mark. But black lines like these imply that the soul was struggling to leave, as if...”

“As if something had forcefully pulled it out.” Edamura completed it for her. It wasn’t even a question; the grim statement made perfect sense.

Cynthia acknowledged it with a solemn nod. “We still don’t have any clue what it looks like, what it’s motive may be, but none of it can mean anything good. Supernatural beings that can directly interact with a soul like that… those are just bad news.”

_That would explain the crazy energy_ , Laurent thought. He then glanced down at Edamura right next to him, who was looking up back at him. Their worried gazes met halfway, because they knew they had their work cut out for them.

* * *

It took them just one more day, before they knew exactly what they were dealing with.

One more day, and one more victim.

Edamura and Laurent had been out and about when it happened that afternoon, as they stood at the edge of the road, a few blocks away from an apartment complex. What they hadn’t noticed was that a stranger had been standing on its rooftop. Ten stories high, to be exact. All they had heard was a woman’s piercing scream, and a resounding, wet crack.

The woman had been in her late twenties, at most. Rain continued to fall on her mangled body relentlessly, making the blood pooling around her spread further across the asphalt, dripping down the edge of the pavement. Before any more people could gather round and stare in horror, Edamura grabbed a hold of Laurent’s forearm. His nails were digging deep into his skin, with a sense of burning urgency. When Laurent glanced down at his partner, he saw the grim expression etched on his face: brows raised up, eyes shot wide open, lower lip trembling ever so slightly. He was witnessing the horror of watching someone end their own life in the most gruesome way possible - and the fear of seeing something beyond the ordinary. Something no one else could see.

Laurent could practically read his mind: _there it is. I can see it._

When the two reported back to Cynthia, Edamura disclosed all that he saw back there: the figure’s size, shape, and all other physical descriptions. He even explained how the form had reached into the body’s chest and pulled out the remnants of a soul that burned bright white in its palm, its tendrils clinging to the body as if it were resisting the assault. But with one sharp tug, the soul snapped away, and it turned as black as coal.

Cynthia was nodding along the entire account, an assurance making her stare seem more and more concrete. “The black wings… I had a hunch before, but I needed more evidence.”

With that, she grabbed ahold of an ancient text bound by mere strings, a collection of lore written about the most ancient spirits, and the first ones to enter the mortal plane on their own. Opening the text, she flipped through a couple of pages, before pushing it towards Edamura. She pointed at one figure, sketched in black ink, and asked, “Did it look something like this?”

He looked carefully, squinting at the image hard. Laurent leaned in close, and saw the scribbled drawing. It was made with a slightly rushed hand, but the strokes were sure nonetheless: a demeaning figure with black wings twice its size opened wide, with a lanky figure shrouded completely in a cloak. It hid every other facial feature except a pair of burning eyes. Extending from the depths of the cloak was a thin, bony hand, holding an illuminating staff of sorts. There were wisps of dying souls surrounding the figure, reaching up towards the light as if they were in the presence of God Almighty.

Laurent recognized it instantly, and so did Edamura, though he had his own reservations: “Well, this is a Psychopomp, right? I mean, it does have the same wings as that- that thing, but… but it wore no cloak. It looked a lot stronger, too. It wasn’t even holding a staff, or anything; it was doing all its deeds with bare hands.”

Cynthia nodded deeply, and there was a hint of a smirk playing at her lips.

“Traditional Psychopomps only guide souls once they’ve left the body with some tool, like a staff. But now it appears that you’re dealing with one that has the power to remove them from their vessel forcefully.”

Laurent had a hard time wrapping his head around it. “But no one can do that without being given the Divine Right. I mean, wouldn’t they burn themselves if they tried pulling out a soul against its will?”

Cynthia folded her arms on top of the study table, and responded: “Exactly - hence why this one even looks different from regular ones. And from what Edamura is telling us, it’s strong enough to handle the task all on its own. Meaning you don’t have a typical Psychopomp on your hands. It’s a rogue kind. Although…”

Laurent ran a hand down his face. _That can’t mean anything good._

It was as if Edamura read his mind: “ _Although_ …?”

She leaned back against her chair, though there was no sign of comfort in her expression. “It’s most definitely rogue, but not in the way that it's mindless with power. This thing is taking souls instead of waiting for them. That doesn’t just need power - that needs some serious premeditation.”

The notion made Laurent’s throat run dry. A guide for the lost souls, now selfishly stealing them. Not because it had gone blind with celestial power, but simply because it could. As if it were wanting to play God.

The thought made him want to shudder, but he suppressed the feeling. Before he could raise another question about its possible origins or motives, Edamura beat him to it with a query of his own:

“So how do we kill it?”

The question threw Cynthia aback, and all she could do was shrug helplessly. “From the looks of it, this Psychopomp seems to have made an appearance after centuries - no record I have gives any hint as to how to incapacitate it.”

That response didn’t sit well with him. He stepped closer, and slammed his hands against the table top. “There has to be _something_ \- something we could do to stop it.”

Cynthia shook her head, wondering out loud. “The most you could do is weaken it once it's already inside the mortal realm, but even there we don’t have enough information. Edamura, we need more time.”

While that answer didn’t suit Edamura’s sentiments at all, he did not protest any further. Even though he nodded in agreement, his hands were balled up into fists on his sides. And they shook with hidden rage.

* * *

“How do we get rid of this thing?”

Edamura had once more raised the same question during the course of the next two days. They had bounced around with suggestions in Cynthia’s study room first, and when that gave nothing but terse yet incomplete responses from the art historian herself, they decided to take a stroll outside around the local pier to refresh their minds. It felt as if the world had gotten emptier than before. Maybe it was because of the frigid rain that fell relentlessly - or maybe it was because of the shroud of grief that loss often brought along with it.

Fortunately, there were no more victims, at least none that were recorded. But that didn’t mean it was over. It rarely ever was.

“Can we even kill something like that? I mean, there’s never been an instance of someone actually killing a Psychopomp,” Laurent commented, huddling underneath his umbrella. “They’re ancient beings, with a divinely ordained purpose. They’re not like ghosts or ghouls that just fuck around.”

Edamura hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah, that’s true… but we can get rid of it without killing it, can’t we?”

Laurent couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “And how’d you do that?”

“What if we lock it out?"

“Huh?”

“Yeah - whether it’s a ghost or an angel, nothing can enter the mortal plane without their own portal. So if we just disrupt that portal some way, we’ll be able to keep it from entering our world.”

The theory sounded quite satisfactory - but in practice? Laurent had his doubts.

“It makes sense, but… but we barely know what type of a rogue this thing even is. Hell, even Cynthia doesn’t have anything on this Psychopomp. How would we know something like that could work?”

“We can’t know if we don’t try-”

“Edamura, we can’t rush into something this volatile,” he cut in. After all, their conversation was just going in a loop aimlessly, all while they wasted precious time. “Let’s take a few more days to research this thing. There’s no point in going head-on recklessly, without a plan. By that time, maybe Cynthia will be able to get some records from her other colleagues overseas.”

He thought that was the end of that, as he wrapped his black coat around his waist tighter, bracing against the biting wind. He had taken three steps ahead when he realized Edamura wasn’t beside him anymore - he had stopped in his tracks, staring at him grimly.

“So you’re saying we just wait it out?”

Laurent stopped too. He nodded. _We have no other choice._

“We just sit on our asses, while that thing roams around and kills more people?”

That question quivered in the air threateningly, like a sword waiting to strike down. Laurent didn’t know how to answer that.

“Edamura-”

“I know what you’re gonna say: _we have no choice_. But don’t you fucking dare tell me that letting innocent people just- just die is any better.”

_I never said it was_ , Laurent thought.

He knew better than anyone how thankless of a job theirs was - thankless and unrewarding, even. When it came to maintaining the delicate order between the supernatural and the humane, the body count was almost always something beyond their control.  
Edamura had been long enough in the business to know that, and yet, there he stood defiant as ever, wishing he could save everyone. With his hands clenched tight around his umbrella, his resolution began to waver as his shoulders sagged, almost like his leather jacket weighed a hundred pounds. Laurent could practically see the hope in his eyes flicker, struggling to stay alive. The sight made his heart heavy.

Helpless, he walked back towards Edamura. He wanted to say something, _anything_ \- but when he stopped before his partner, someone ran into him from behind. He stumbled aside, realizing he might’ve been blocking the way all this time.

“Ah, sorry there, I-”

But the words froze in his throat as soon as they left his mouth. The man was middle-aged, with a balding head hidden beneath a baseball cap. He was huddled deep within two coats layered over one another. Weary lines marked the corners of his forehead, but the way the edges of his mouth were curled… there was no denying that sinister smile. There was no denying that cold stare - one that sent familiar jolts of electricity up his spine.

Cold, empty, etched with very familiar looking black lines.

The stranger was going to kill himself - against his own will.

Almost by instinct, Laurent grabbed a hold of Edamura’s shoulders, holding him to his side firmly.

Edamura noticed the man as well, and he was already struggling against his grip. “Laurent, he’s gonna-”

“I know,” he whispered, as he dragged the pair ahead as if they had seen nothing unusual. “But you have to listen to me…”

After laying out the plan in hushed whispers, Edamura’s eyes blew wide with surprise. “You sure about this…?”

“Do we have any other choice?”

That response worded itself with much uncertainty, but Edamura felt the assurance nonetheless. He nodded determinately.

As soon as they reached the edge of the pier, they went as planned: they huddled behind an empty stall, throwing away their umbrellas in haste, as Edamura stationed himself at the farthest edge. He had to keep an eye out for the stranger, who was trudging along the length of the pier with a deliberate, zombie-like gait.

Moments stretched on for an eternity. The world had fallen silent, except for the distant sound of a seagull’s caw. Nothing else moved - nothing except for the rain, and the wind.

And then, the atmosphere.

There was that gentle thrum emanating throughout, pulsating slowly and surely the longer it persisted. Laurent could feel it - _it’s near, isn’t it?_

One glance at Edamura confirmed his suspicions; his eyes were fixated at one point, his fingers trembling at the sight of that Psychopomp’s slow reappearance. He nodded to Laurent, though the terror in him was still present. And he couldn’t blame him.

But there was no time. Quickly, he motioned for the pen and piece of paper in Laurent’s hand.

And so, Edamura began sketching the symbol that must have burned in the air, marking the maligned entity's entrance. _So it_ was _using a sigil_ , Laurent thought, as his eyes traced each stroke that Edamura’s hand etched out, almost as if it had a mind of its own. Psychopomps did tend to have their own sigils they’d use to pass through different realms, but that was something unlike he had ever seen. Either that specific sigil had gone unnoticed by the pair, or the rogue Psychopomp managed to repurpose it every single time to avoid detection. Both scenarios were equally horrid.

In any case, Laurent made sure he took every single motion in, retaining it in his mind. Everything rode on this: if he slipped up the line order even a little bit, the Psychopomp would notice the disturbance - and that could never mean anything good.

It took only half a minute more before Edamura was done, and as he thrusted the paper towards him, Laurent could tell he was spent. Sweat dotted his forehead, as he turned to stare at him. His eyes carried just one message, clear as day: _get the deed done._

Laurent wasted no time: edging closer to the cart’s end, he peered round the edge to see what the situation was like. The stranger had walked halfway up the pier, and now stood facing the left, dangerously close to the edge. His hands were around the railing, as he looked down at the depthless sea beneath. Waiting.

Quickly, he pulled out a pocket knife from the coat of his pocket, and slashed through his palm, deep enough that blood began to pool in his right hand. Carefully, he began marking the same sigil on the ground.

It seemed to be working; as soon as he was done marking the first arch of the mystical symbol, the air around them thrummed even more, like a taut rope ready to snap. The vibrations steadily rose with each curl marked in red, but he pressed on. When he was halfway through, he could see a figure flicker up on the pier, like a glitch within the world’s own fabric. The flicker began to take eventual form - and even though it wasn’t complete, the presence was undeniably sinister.

Despite having a sixth sense to feel supernatural presences, the only times Laurent could actually see them dominating the mortal plane were when those creatures were unmasked. So as the sigil stripped the rogue off his cloak of protection, the entity slowly began to resemble a tall figure, with the same jet black wings that Edamura had described. A grey armor of sorts mimicked the shape of shoulders, though there was no telling whether or not it even had a body underneath; all that was visible were grey hands, and a huge beating heart in place of its head. While the heart itself glistened red with fresh blood, the arteries and veins that extended from it were a muddled grey, as they hung over each shoulder.

The rogue Psychopomp was standing before the stranger now, staring down as if it had finally found its prey. It didn’t seem to notice it’s sigil having been detected - or worse, it didn’t seem to care. All it cared for was the soul before it, trapped inside a body. Lifting a grey, decaying hand, it inched towards him, ever so slowly.

They were running out of time. Laurent swore under his breath, putting all of his energy to sever the link between that wretched Psychopomp and the world. He was merely two more strokes away from completing the figure, when he heard a foreign voice violate his mind:

_ Do you believe this will end my reign? _

Laurent stopped midway, glancing at Edamura. From the way he stared back bewildered, there was no denying it: the Psychopomp had noticed them. The two of them were relatively good at noticing invasive energies, whenever something supernatural would try to force themselves into their thoughts - and yet, this Psychopomp could enter without any detection.

The voice was by all definitions inhumane: loud yet whispery, slow and languid yet boisterous and cruel in every sense of the word. It seemed to have stilled every other thought in Laurent’s mind to a halt, for all that mattered, all that dominated was that freakish rogue.

It spoke again: _I pity you humans. How deluded you all are, believing you can save lives destined to suffer._

Edamura gritted his teeth. “And yet you’re the one killing them!”

The Psychopomp laughed, and it felt like nails scratching hard against the walls of their mind.

_Oh?_ It asked, disgustingly chastising. _Am I killing them, or merely giving them the escape they so desperately desire?_

_ These are the cowards who cannot survive the measly trials of the world, with souls much too damaged to go on. They carry with them pain, and all I am here to do is remove that pain entirely. _

That seemed to have lit within Edamura a rage unlike any other. “Fuck you,” he rasped with pure vitriol, before grabbing Laurent’s bloodied hand.

Together, they wasted no time. They completed the last two strokes swiftly, and suddenly the sigil began to glow - the connection was about to be burnt entirely; in a matter of moments, the creature would be locked out of the mortal world.

And yet, the monster laughed triumphantly.

_ Oh you vermin, all blind with your sense of righteousness. I am the spirit of Pain. As long as there is Pain, I will persist. I will persist, so long as there is Pain. _

The air surrounding them was quivering at frequencies so high, Laurent found it hard to even breathe. He grunted against the force of the air pressing in on him, to the point of suffocation. Pressing his hands hard against the burning sigil, he dug in deep, forcing the cursed connection to break, break, _fucking break already_ -

And with a final blow, it severed entirely: the figure of the Psychopomp cracked into a hundred pieces, fragments that withered to dust, to nothingness. With each passing second, the creature faded more and more - and yet, it wasn’t protesting. It’s head was still tilted towards Laurent and Edamura, aware and unmoving. Almost as if it were amused.

_ As long as there is Pain, I will persist. I will persist, so long as there is Pain. _

With that last echo as its farewell, the Psychopomp disappeared.

Laurent wished that was the end of it - but one glance at Edamura was all it took before he realized that that was far from the truth.

The Psychopomp hadn't even completely languished, when his partner stepped out of the cart and towards the stranger.

The stranger didn’t notice Edamura running towards him, for his stare was directed towards the water below for the entire time. He didn’t hear him call out to him, for he was too busy stepping over the railing, one nimble step at a time. He didn’t seem to care for the desperate pleas thrown at him, urging him to  _ stop, turn around, please, please _ \- for he had already jumped.

*

They reported all the events that had transpired to Cynthia right after, who had confirmed that they had indeed succeeded in locking the Psychopomp away from the mortal plane; a cracked aura signified nothing more, nothing less. Yet, there was no relief in her admission, simply because of the elephant in the room: sure, they may have locked it out, but it was far from dead.

“It may be stagnant for a few days, months, years - but it’ll most definitely come back,” she had concluded gravely. “You’ll have to be prepared for it.”

Of course, he knew better than anyone else to always expect the worst when it came to creatures of the spirit realm, especially the wilder kinds. Yet, it didn’t make the unease any better. Even in the confines of their home, that one sinister phrase refused to leave his mind: _I will persist, so long as there is Pain._ A grim promise.

Walking through the hallway, Laurent peeked into their bedroom: a squared room with two single beds, surrounded by cheap wallpaper. On the bed right next to the only window in the room, sat Edamura, silent.  
He usually had a habit of staying silent even after the most successful missions, simply because he’d be too exhausted to do anything else besides rest. Being able to witness hidden pockets of the world beyond the veil was no walk around the park, after all.

And yet there he was, silently sitting on the edge of his bed, not yet having removed his shoes or even his damp dress shirt. He was much too pensive to do much of anything.

Laurent had an inkling of what might have been bothering him, but he didn’t want to intrude so directly. Instead, he did what he’d normally do: he stepped inside slowly, making sure his shoes didn’t make the ancient floorboards creak. He sat beside his partner, waiting. A silent invitation with a clear message: _I’m here._

Edamura seemed to have heard it loud and clear, though the grimness in his tone was apparent. “We could have saved him.”

Even though he said ‘ _we_ ’, it still seemed to be directed to only himself.

He continued. “I know we couldn’t have reached the last two people who had died because of that- that monster, but today… we were right there. We locked it out, we were right there. And yet we couldn’t save him. Why couldn’t we save him?”

His voice had fallen to a quivering whisper, a silent plea for someone to undo his wrongful mistakes. He hunched forward, with his elbows leaning against his knees, as if he were physically bearing the weight of those innocent lives lost: people who didn’t deserve the unwarranted cruelty of the supernatural. Strangers he wanted to protect.

“It wasn’t in our control,” Laurent answered, with a measured tone. “That man… he seemed to have made his decision. You couldn’t have known.”

“Still,” he hissed underneath his breath, clenching his fists tight. “Still. Nobody deserves that.” _Everyone deserves a chance to live._

He then laughed bitterly, mocking no one but himself. “And here I thought we were some fuckin’ beacon of light for everyone…”

Theirs was a thankless job. Both of them knew that better than anyone else. And yet, all that was ever present in Edamura’s mind was an incessant desire to protect people. It almost seemed to make the burden of supernatural vision something worth handling, so long as he could help others.

It was thus no wonder why Edamura was bothered so, as he ran a tired hand down his face. He felt like he had failed not only the strangers who had died, but also himself.

Laurent could practically see the regret plague his being, making that familiar light in his eyes flicker yet again, and he wished nothing more than to somehow rid him of his pain. He just hoped that being next to him - even in silence - would be enough. Even if he couldn’t carry his burden, maybe they could share it instead.

_ How can you, of all people, say that? Weren’t you the one who dragged him into all this in the first place? _

(The thought made his heart ache.)

Just then, Edamura’s gaze flitted to Laurent’s hand. “You’re still bleeding.”

Laurent hadn’t even noticed the stinging sensation until he pointed it out. Glancing down at his right hand, he saw the blood all over his palm; dried for the most part, but still fresh around the cut itself. Thankfully, it didn’t need stitches, but it was most definitely going to leave a scar.

“Ah, I didn’t even realize-” Laurent started, but he couldn’t finish his sentence - for Edamura had already left the bed, making his way into the bathroom. He emerged with a small white First Aid kit, talking about how much of an idiot he had to be to leave his wound unattended for that many hours without so much as feeling it.

Edamura was having none of Laurent’s protests; he simply grabbed his hand, and began to clean up his skin with an alcohol swab. It stung like a hundred pins and needles, and Laurent couldn’t help but let out a pained hiss. But his partner carried on with a whispered promise: “Just a little more… it won’t hurt after this.”

Unknowingly, Laurent held onto that promise - not because of Edamura’s exceptional skill at dressing up injuries, but only because he spoke it so earnestly. There was a sort of genuine care in the way he cleaned up his skin, and covered the cut with an antiseptic. There was a kind of diligence in the way his eyes were fixated on his hand, making sure the gauze had wrapped around his palm snuggly. There was always a promise to protect others in everything that he did - even if it is something as simple as caring for someone’s wounds.

He felt himself smile, the longer he stared. Edamura might not be some beacon of light for all of humanity, but he was warm. For Laurent, that was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you or a loved one is dealing with suicidal thoughts, I hope these links help:
> 
> Suicide Prevention resources in Pakistan: https://parhley.com/suicide-helplines-in-pakistan/  
> Other Suicide Prevention resources: https://www.healthline.com/health/mental-health/suicide-resource-guide
> 
> (If you have any other resources in mind, feel free to share in the comments and I'll add them here!)

**Author's Note:**

> Here's me trying something new - and finally delving into this glorious fandom!!! Lemme know what you think <3


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